


be my kryptonite

by renecdote



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Fluff, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Sensory Overload, Superman is not indestructable, a little bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-17 01:28:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16506662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renecdote/pseuds/renecdote
Summary: “I need,” Clark’s voice is hard and brittle, like cracked glass about to splinter into a thousand deadly pieces, “I need you to get your kryptonite.”Sometimes being Superman, having super senses, is too much. Bruce helps Clark deal with that.





	be my kryptonite

**Author's Note:**

> For the lovely andro who left a prompt on tumblr ago. I finally got around to finishing it.

**** “Will you be retiring shortly, sir?” Alfred asks. 

The manifest blown up on the Batcomputer screen is starting to blur in front of Bruce’s tired eyes. “Yes,” he says because he’d meant to go to bed half an hour ago, really he had, but then he’d gotten distracted. Something about the cargo number isn’t right... Fifteen more minutes of staring at the screen reveals no answers though so Bruce concedes defeat for the night.

His knees crunch when he stands up and he winces. The left one aches terribly from sitting in the same position for so long and it takes a few seconds of leaning against the desk before it will take his weight. Then Bruce slowly makes his way across the Cave to the locker room. A hot shower that fills the room with steam eases some of the aches and pains in his body. It's not always so bad, but the cold down in the Cave gets to him more than he’d like this time of year, the winter chill creeping in at the end of fall to sap warmth and rattle bones. 

When Bruce feels himself in danger of nodding off in the shower, he reluctantly turns it off. He pulls on thick sweatpants and a soft grey Gotham Knights sweatshirt then heads back out into the Cave to take the elevator upstairs. He only gets a few feet before he stops short. 

Clark is in the middle of the Cave, kneeling on the ground with his head bowed and his body coiled tightly beneath his cape. His hands are over his ears and he’s almost rocking himself in an unconscious, desperate search for comfort.

Bruce is by Clark’s side in a second, reaching for him, unsure where to touch, panic fluttering in his chest. “What’s wrong?” he demands, worry making his voice harsh. 

Superman is a beacon of strength and hope, unbowed by the burdens he carries every day, but right now he just looks broken. Scenarios flash through Bruce’s mind, each more alarming than the next. Kryptonite, Doomsday, something worse? What could be worse than the thing that killed Superman?

“I need,” Clark’s voice is hard and brittle, like cracked glass about to splinter into a thousand deadly pieces, “I need you to get your kryptonite.”

Bruce stills. “What?”

Clark groans, hands pushing even harder against his ears like he’s trying to crush his own skull. He looks up, desperation in his eyes, and Bruce sees that there are tears sliding down his cheeks. His face is twisted with pain. Bruce wants to reach out. He keeps his hands by his sides. 

“There’s too much,” Clark says, “I can hear _everything_.” His eyes screw shut. “Fuck, my head. Bruce—”

“Okay,” Bruce says, voice softer, barely a whisper through chapped lips. He puts his hand on Clark’s cheek and feels the tension in his muscles. Now that he understands what’s happening, the panic bleeds out of him. He knows what’s wrong, this is something he can fix. 

“Kryptonite,” Clark says again. A sob escapes him, cracking his voice as he continues, “Please, it would take it away, it-”

“If you think I’m going to expose you to kryptonite, you have no idea who I am,” Bruce says. His tone is even, calm, because that’s what Clark needs right now, but inside his heart twists. How could Clark even think he’d be okay with that?

“Please,” Clark says, fingers clutching at Bruce’s wrist, blunt nails digging in, bruising scarred flesh, “Please Bruce, I need you to make it stop.”

“I will.” But not with kryptonite. “I need you to stand up.”

Clark's grip on Bruce's arm strengthens and he uses the grip to pull himself up to his feet. Bruce throws his friend's arm around his shoulder and helps him across the Cave. There's a room in the back, hidden off one of the many tunnels branching out from the main cavern. There's nothing in there, it's just a simple room cut out of the rock, but it has one special property that makes it perfect for helping Clark. 

They stumble inside and Bruce leans Clark against a wall before turning back to slam the door shut. Clark looks up at him, surprise smoothing away some of the pain carved into his face. A few more tears slide unchecked down his cheeks but Clark rubs them away before they can drip off his jaw and onto his armour.

"Lead?" he asks, voice rough.

Bruce nods. "The whole room. It was supposed to be a vault, but I never got around to putting anything in here."

Clark sinks down to the ground, boots scraping against the rock as he pulls his knees up to his chest. He wraps his arms around his legs and drops his head down, cape bunched around his shoulders like a blanket. He looks small and vulnerable. Bruce hates it. Superman is big and bright and full of annoyingly good cheer. He’s not... this. Tortured by his own superhuman body. Defeated by the very indestructible thing that, to the world, makes him great. 

"Thanks," Clark says, the word quiet but no less sincere for it. 

Bruce grunts. "It's fine."

He lingers in front of the door, strangely reluctant to leave Clark alone even though his initial plan had been to just throw him in here and come back later. The best thing for Clark would be to be alone, right? Bruce being here... It's just more noise. Even the whispers of his clothing, the slow thump of his heart, the hiss of air in and out of his lungs, all of it is like klaxons to battered Kryptonian ears. Bruce turns to leave.

"Stay," Clark says. He's looking up at Bruce again, that same desperate look in his eyes from before. Bruce feels phantom pressure around his wrist and rubs it absently. "Please."

Bruce takes silent footsteps across the room and sits against the wall beside his friend. After a moment, Clark shuffles closer and leans his head against Bruce's shoulder. Bruce doesn't say anything and they sit there in silence. The kind of silence that feels like comfort and home, settling into the crevices of Bruce’s brain and wrapping around his heart like a hug.

Bruce's shoulder gets steadily warmer from the Kryptonian's heat but he doesn't shift away, he lets the feeling spread through him. It feels like home as well. With the warmth comes a wave of exhaustion, dowsing him from head to toe and leaving his eyes fluttering. 

"I'm sorry," Clark says. It feels odd, the movement of his jaw against Bruce's arm. 

"Why?" Bruce asks. Clark didn't do anything to be sorry for, not that he knows about at least. There are some things he doesn’t know. Some things he pretends he does know sometimes. More and more often he finds himself reluctant to pretend when it’s just Clark though. 

"You were going to bed."

"Hn." Bruce leans his head back against the wall. It slides down without his permission to rest against the top of Clark's head. Sweat-damp curls stick to his cheek. "It's alright. Not like I haven't missed a few hours of sleep before."

"You should go," Clark says. “You'll hate yourself in the morning if you fall asleep here, I know your knee has been stiff lately."

Bruce doesn't bother answering that. They both know he's not going to leave now. "How's your head?" he asks instead. 

Clark huffs, amused but too tired to laugh. He's more than familiar with Bruce changing the topic when it strays close to something that might lead to a confession of weakness. 

"Sore," Clark says. "But better, now that it's quiet."

Bruce wonders whether he's reading too much into the tone because it sounds almost like ‘now that I'm with you’. 

"Good."

Silence falls between them again, just as warm and comfortable as before. The weight dragging Bruce’s eyelids down wins against his resolve to stay awake. His mind wanders, away from dimly lit rooms in dark caves, to summer days and flowers dancing in a gentle breeze. It’s almost a dream. 

“I’m also sorry I asked you to expose me to Kryptonite,” Clark says, startling Bruce back to awareness. “I know you wouldn’t… Not if you didn’t need to take me down, at least.”

Bruce doesn't say it's alright this time. He understands that Clark was in pain, desperate for relief from the assaulting noises from all across the planet, but it still hurts that he would come to Bruce for that. That he would think Bruce would be willing to hurt him if the fate of the world didn’t rest on it. 

"It‘s because I trust you," Clark says. His voice is like the morning sun, a warm yellow glow spreading through the room, just enough to wash away some of the chill in the air. "Because I know you wouldn't take it too far, wouldn’t hurt me more than you had to. You'd just do what is necessary."

_I trust you._ For Clark, the statement is so simple, something he can admit freely, but it lodges behind Bruce's heart. He can’t remember whether he’s said it, not in such plain words at least. He wonders if Clark knows though. He must, surely. Bruce wouldn’t sit on the ground with just anyone, wouldn’t let himself almost fall asleep with just anyone so close.

Bruce opens his mouth to say _I trust you too_. But he’s a coward and what comes out instead is, “Does that happen often?”

“No,” Clark says. “Not anymore. It happened more when I was a kid, before I got better control over my abilities.”

“Hm.” 

There could be a next time though. Bruce looks around the room, already making plans. A bed in that corner, some better lighting. The room isn’t very wide but it’s long, plenty of room to partition off the back and turn it into a bathroom. It would still be a sealed room in a cave, but it could be made comfortable, and it would be quiet.

“These days it’s only when I’m tired and stressed, usually I can get control before it gets that bad…” Clark trails off.

“You should come here,” Bruce says. “Next time, before it gets bad. Even if I’m not here, I’ll let Alfred know. Nobody will disturb you.”

“Thank you,” Clark says. High notes of surprise mingle with the warmth, like birds singing in the early morning sun. “You don’t have to though, I can handle it. I wouldn’t want to impose.”

Their hands are so close, Bruce’s fingers brushing against Clark’s wrist. It’s so easy to take his hand, to squeeze it, to let impulse carry him across that last, minuscule gap between them. “Let me help, Clark,” Bruce says. “I want to.”

Clark is staring at their hands. He turns his palm upward and their fingers slot neatly together. “Okay,” he says. The word tickles Bruce’s skin. “Okay.”

And in that lead-lined room, leaning into Bruce’s side, the cacophony in his head quietens. Everything is, for now, okay once more. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading :) Kudos and comments are always appreciated if you enjoyed the fic!
> 
> Tumblr is [here](http://tantalum-cobalt.tumblr.com).


End file.
